


A Flicker of Hope

by Laura_Maz



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blindness, Friendship, Gen, Journey, Light and shadow, New armour and weapon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Maz/pseuds/Laura_Maz
Summary: Eriol, once a pathfinder and scout of the Gilnean Army, was left blind during a mission to establish the outpost of Greywatch. Now, together with Hildagard Goldram, his best friend, he manages to find not only a new military outfit, but also someone who will help him with his much needed healing.





	A Flicker of Hope

The cold was so piercing that even Eriol, the blind Gilnean worgen, accustomed as he was to the Northern climates, began to think about it as a living, hungry thing with sharp teeth and claws. His friend Hildagard, dwarven paladin of the Argent Crusade, and he had been on a journey for some days now, managing to find shelter in outposts and farmsteads on the road, since the dwarven families and mountaineers were willing to help one of their own and her friend against the cruel nights of Dun Morogh, made of a cold who could kill a man in a matter of minutes and wild predators always on the prowl in search of warm preys to live on. The long road of cobblestones that crossed the whole region from North Gate Pass to the Gates of Ironforge wound through dark fir trees cloaked in snow and ice and sometimes it disappeared utterly under heaps of snow carried by the wind. To help his steed with the cold and the ice, before leaving the ranch Eriol had wrapped Aminor’s legs to warm and strengthen them and the horse, now not really riotous but rather depressed, followed Hilda’s ram’s tail almost submissively.

Luckily, until then the journey had not shown surprises of sorts and around that lunch Hildagard had said, quite relieved, that within the evening they would have been at the Gates. After so much time spent together Eriol trusted her by default, but his impatient and curious nature had brought him to ask her every half an hour if there was any change in the mountains to their right. In the end, Hildagard’s notoriously thin patience had really thinned so much that she had threatened to leave him behind in the snow and Eriol, grumpy, had put a stop to his questions. He really wished that journey to be over because there was nothing poetic in having his arse frozen all day and sleeping in in the stables with the rams or the sheeps at night. The stench of sheep had become so strong around him that he figured no one would be surprised if he started to bleat. Every now and then he checked on his crow, Nuisance who, grumpier than him, was under his cloak, perched on the saddle behind him. The bird just flew away to hunt every now and then, but mostly he refused to leave the saddle. Eriol couldn’t blame him.  
In the end, towards the middle of the afternoon, when he thought he could lose his legs which had taken the consistency of ice cubes in his trousers, he heard Hildagard’s whistle. 

“There, finally! I can spot the first buildings on the side of the mountains! A couple of hours more and we will be at tha Gates”.

“Goldrinn’s fangs, I was waiting for this, Hilda! I will never complain again about any kind of cold! I swear!”

Hildagard chuckled.

“And here I thought ya were accustomed to the cold, ya whiny baby”.

Eriol growled.

“This isn’t cold, this is murder!”

On and on they rode, until the road turned to the right and began to wind upwards following the cobblestoned path. While their mounts approached the City of Ironforge, Eriol felt the wind decrease its intensity and the cold become sharper, albeit less bothersome, since the endless gusts just seemed to find every crevice in his clothes and cloak. In the end the wind stopped and the silence had an echoing quality that told him that huge stone walls were in front of them. Then, as they proceeded, he heard the sound of many voices - mostly dwarven, some human, some gnomish - and he felt Hilda taking Aminor’s bridle and leading him on. 

“We’re at the great Gates of Ironforge. It’s a pity you cannot see them, lad, because I’ve never seen such a marvellous stone work, not even in Stormwind or Pandaria.” Hildagard’s tone was of impressed reverence. “Once we are let in by the guards, we will leave our mounts at the inner stables and go on foot. The walk won’t be short because the city is big and we need to cover the outer ring”.

“Whatever the change, it will be welcome… does that involve some ale, too?”, he pleaded.

Hildagard snorted, without answering on purpose, letting go of the horse's bridle and leaving the worgen sad and stranded. 

“Hilda, come on! The beer of Ironforge! Whiskey, ale, whatever…”

He felt Hildagard's presence disappear from near him. The cold seemed to bite stronger. “No, no, don’t leave me here…!”

He dismounted with an agile jump, nearly kicking down Nuisance who cawed in protest and fluttered away inside the gates, disappearing in the darkness. He perked up his ears and followed the steps who he thought more alike to his friend’s, leading Aminor by the bridle. He found out that the paladin was waiting for him just before the sill. 

“Come on, lad, we are almost in”.

Then he heard Hildagard’s voice ahead of him, addressing the guards of the Gate in her own tongue which he had not yet happened to learn well. He waited patiently and he was rewarded by her call. “Come on, lad! we don’t have all day!”  
With a sigh, Eriol marched away on stiff legs, the biting cold numbing his joints. He heard the clank of the armours of the guards in his proximity and he sent them a jaunty salute before scuttling into a warmer darkness, followed eagerly by his horse.

The dwarf and the Gilnean left their mounts at the inner stables, as planned, with full satisfaction of Aminor who happily began to munch his ration of hay and corn even before the duo had made their way out of the stall.  
With a sigh of pure satisfaction, feeling warm for the first time in days, Eriol stretched every muscle of his body thoroughly, ending with a shiver. 

“I really wish I could see this, Hilda. By the feeling of it, this place must be huge”.

“Aye, it is,”, his friend replied. “The halls stretch about 30 yards high in the great forge, which is the heart of the mountain. and the molten magma warms every nook”. 

She led him out of the area of the entrance and into the main hall, stopping right before the canal where, under the protective grids, the magma was flowing freely. Eriol felt the sudden heat and he began to sweat in the warm clothes and cloak. Focusing a bit he could hear the faint bubbling and hissing of the magma, too.

“Here there is no middle ground. Either you freeze your nuts like cocktail ice cubes or you get them cooked and ready for dinner. Now I understand why you dwarves are so stubborn”, he grinned smugly. Hildagard cast an annoyed glance at her friend. 

“Yer quite loud for a half frozen Worgen. Say, what if we dealt with the armour and spear and we went back home straight away?”

The threat sounded quite hollow even to the paladin’s own ears, but Eriol almost panicked, since he felt in every joint he could not risk going out in the cold so soon. He felt like a withered flower slowly going back to health.  
“Hilda, I draw back everything and I will behave, ok? Just don’t bring me back outside so soon, please…!”  
The dwarf woman smirked, unseen, and took the blind man’s hand, leading him away towards the Military Ward, where the armorsmiths and weaponsmiths had their shops. The walk took a while and it was already evening, at least by Eriol’s count, when they stepped in the wide hall of the military district. The place was quite crowded, all with the guards changing shifts and the shops always open and Eriol stopped for a while, getting used to the sounds, the shouts, the scents of the metal, sweat and leather, warm buns and fresh ale. He was smiling, content to find himself in that tumultuous life. The loneliness at the ranch could be felt and touched, almost, and when he was alone for too long, his thoughts were always ready to drag him down in the winding path to sadness and despair. Voices, music, life, smells, all contributed to keep him grounded and vigilant against his own emotions and in that moment he felt finally good like he hadn’t since the time Hildagard and he had left Tyr’s Hand. With his hand he felt in his belt pouch the weight and the shape of the medals he had earned together with the paladin, working with other volunteers and regular soldiers under the lead of Commander Dawncastle and he felt a sharp pang of regret. As always, he tried to fight his feelings, telling himself that war was a necessity and not something he had to look forward to, not even in his situation.

_But again, I’m alive whereas I should be in a grave like my comrades, and especially not damned to this darkness_  
_I’d pay that price ten thousand times_

He shook his head, chasing that wayward, distressing thought back where it belonged, and then he turned around to find his friend.

Hildagard, patiently, had let him be for what time was necessary for his senses and thoughts to adjust, and now she spotted his uneasiness. With a sigh, knowing much of what was going through his mind, she broke every hesitation and led him towards one of the best armour shops, Craghelm’s Plate and Chain. The owner was a friend of her family and she knew she could entrust him with making a good mail armour for her Gilnean friend. Once they had climbed the stone stairs, they found themselves in a busy armory, with dwarves going about, while downstairs they could smell lubricant oil, hear the sounds of metal being moved and then, suddenly, a hammer singing on an anvil. Eriol and Hildagard stood on a side, the worgen with ringing ears, for a while before a young girl reached for them.

“How can I help you?”, she asked affably, sizing the paladin and the human.

“I’d like ta speak to Dolkin. I’d like to commission a custom armour set from him, to fit my friend here”.

The girl blinked and walked to the railing.

“PAPA, COME UPSTAIRS!”

Eriol stooped low to reach Hildagard. 

“I hope I don’t have to strip naked in front of a host of dwarves…” he muttered to his friend. The paladin laughed, amused.

“Don't be daft! Yer getting armour made, not getting some skin tight suit! He'll just have tha measure ya, like any normal smith would”.

Eriol remained speechless for a moment and in the meantime Dolkin and his daughter were back in front of the weird duo. Dolkin smiled. 

“Look who’s there! Tadunn’s niece, if I ain’t mistaken? What brings ya here? Does yer armour need repairings?”

The paladin shook her head. 

“No, ‘tis about new armour for my friend here. He’s a Gilnean Worgen”.

Dolkin looked at Eriol in disbelief. “But he’s…”

“... the most dazzling and wonderful and warlike Gilnean you will ever meet, sir, if that’s what you mean!”, interjected Eriol gleefully. “My last armour is in tatters after our last campaign and I now have savings to get myself a new one”. 

Dolkin and his daughter looked Hildagard with increasing wonder, only to meet her steadfast, annoyed gaze. 

“Well? Can ya do that or not?”

The poor armorsmith found himself nodding. “It will take some days, though. Come with me, Gilnean, I need a ladder to measure your limbs”. Hesitantly, he walked away down the stairs. Eriol cocked his head and followed him, seemingly catching the noise of the footfall in all the surrounding ruckus.  
Dolkin’s daughter approached Hildagard.

“What use is armour for him? He’s blind, isn’t he? He can’t fight!”

The paladin looked at the other girl. 

“He can, and he does, girl, he has his own ways to see and he has his sense of smell and hearing. I have seen him fight, I know what I’m talking about”. 

She fell silent, not deeming necessary to give further explanations.  
The other dwarf looked quite unconvinced and jogged along, going downstairs as well and leaving Hildagard alone.

Eriol was back after nearly one hour, flustered. 

“Hilda, you won’t believe it, he has measured all of me twice, both in my human form and in my worgen form! Well, not -all- of me, of course, I mean, my private parts have been left undisturbed, otherwise…”

“Ya private parts don’t concern anyone but yerself, lad. But here he comes”.

Dolkin came upstairs holding a handful of notes.

“I haf the situation at hand. A standard mail armor with tha due protections and tha right rings and extensible parts for a worgen comes 250 gold coins. I will add some special particulars, but man, ye are huge, both as a human and as a worgen. Ya should consider cutting yer legs”.

“Yeah, so, crippled and blind. Outstanding”, grumbled Eriol sullenly.

Hildagard looked unimpressed. 

“We don’t want the standard stuff, Dolkin, but the top shelf ringmail with extra thick plating, with easy switch from man to worgen and conversely, and the gloves need to be reinforced with leather on the palm and hardened on the back, for better support. Ah, the collar has to contain elastic rings so his throat and neck will be protected easily in both forms”.

Dolkin was scribbling furiously. 

“Ye know this will cost ya a lot more than…”

The paladin snorted. “I will pay tha difference”.

Eriol gasped. “No, Hilda, no, I can’t let you do that. I have money, I can~”

Hildagard silenced him with quite a hard pat on his stomach. “Ye’ll need tha rest fer ya weapon”.

Eriol tried to speak again, but then he thought twice and fell silent. There was nothing he could say about that and a good weapon, a spear, he had thought, could cost him easily more than the armor.

“The cost could be around 400 gold coins. Come back in ten days and it will be ready”.

With another critical look at Eriol, Dolkin bowed politely in the way of the dwarves.

“Off ye go now, I’ll start working on it”.

Hildagard and Eriol bowed, each one after their own fashion, and went out of the shop, not before Hilda cast another disdainful glance at Dolkin’s daughter.

Eriol sighed, turning towards his friend. “Hilda, 400 gold coins! I will have to work forever for you if I want to repay you for the difference”.

The dwarf paladin smiled lazily, unseen.

“Don't be daft, it's a gift. Besides, you still have the weapon to think about”.

The Gilnean groaned, feeling already poor.

The walk to Timberline Arms was too short for Eriol to be able to talk properly to Hilda and when they entered the place he was sweating with worry. The walls and the racks were loaded with the most various weapons, hammers, axes, swords, mainly, but the choice was plenty of other, less dwarf-like objects. Some soldiers were moving and chatting in low tones, for a dwarf, among themselves, inspecting a rack of ornate warhammers.  
Eriol stood at the entrance, waiting for his friend to lead him on. The apparition of that tall human brought a frown of surprise on the brow of the various patrons inside the shop and his apparent blindness left them speechless, so that Eriol, who had heard them first talk and then stop doing it suddenly, knew only too well how awkward he had to feel. His flush could be seen well on his cheeks and ears. Hildagard elbowed the Worgen and bowed politely. 

“I want to talk to Kelomir Ironhand about the forging of a special weapon for my friend here. Where is he?”

“Here, sweet candy bar, and I hope~” A stout dwarf came forth and eyed Hilda well enough to recognise her. 

“B-but… Hildagard Goldram! I hadn’t got my eyes on you, ‘tis been… how long? Come into me lovin’ arms, you”

With a challenging snort but up curled lips, Hilda stood her ground.

“Och, it has not been that long. And don’t ya let yer so called loving arms get handsy!” The older dwarf let out a boisterous guffaw and hug the paladin heartily. 

“So, how are ya? And ya want a weapon for him? Who is he, by the way? Some sort of tall fiancé…?”

Hildagard rolled her eyes and Eriol’s cheeks flushed even brighter than before.

“Greetings, sir… No, we’re just friends, you know? comrades. Fought together in a war or four, same squad”.

The dwarven paladin folded her arms. 

“He needs a new weapon to replace the one he lost in the Plaguelands. Lad, tell Ironhand yer idea for ya spear, so we can get to the inn before tomorrow morning”.

Awkwardly, Eriol stepped forth, well aware of the gazes of wonder and incredulity directed at his blindfold.

“I need a spear, with a telescopic shaft. Closed it must serve me according to my current height, extended… I get to be about 9.10 feet when I turn so you know. You can measure me if you want, maybe it’s more practical”.

The dwarf blinked, then he looked at Hildagard, then back to the human, not really convinced that that weird blind worgen, if he had grasped it well, was serious about his question.

“A spear? That means mid-ranged combat, lad, if ya know what ya doing. Before I even take into consideration grabbing tha hammer, ya will tell me how ya fight and how ya -can- fight, blind as a mole as you are. Maybe blinder”.

Eriol folded his arms with a resigned grunt. “I am forced to close combat because of the way I trained myself to see. As a human I’m as blind as a mole as you say. As a worgen I share a bond with animals - crows, to be honest, are the best - and I can see through the eyes of my crow Nuisance. Took me ages to get the grasp of it, but now I can exploit his vision quite well. In addition, I’ve got a nose and ears which, let me tell you, are good indeed. So yes, I can fight seeing quite well, by crow standards at least, and me being alive… for now”, he added a bit more sheepishly, “is quite a piece of evidence, as Hilda can tell you. I used to be an archer, a good marksman. I loved my bow. But well… without eyes I had to rely on something more practical”. He subsided, patient, awaiting, while Hildagard was glaring at the owner of the shop.

The dwarf considered the worgen for a while. “Come downstairs, lad”. He ambled away, going down the stone stairs with a heavy pace. Eriol stooped to pat Hildagard reassuringly and followed suit, with a lighter step.  
As the time went by, Hildagard thoroughly inspected the weapons all over the shop, judging silently, appreciating silently, snorting silently at the passing time.

Finally Eriol and Ironhand reappeared on the stairs, both silent, the man clearly wary, the dwarf lost in thought. He turned to Eriol, snapping back to reality. 

“Eight days, be back with 350 gold coins. I will talk ta Dolkin meself to get my brains on the looks of your armour. Let’s get ya sumthin’ matching”. 

Eriol nodded, swallowing hard hearing the price, but not protesting. He knew well a good weapon, like a good armour, could make the difference between life and death on the battlefield and if a dwarven smith asked for a price, that must be the deal. Anyway, that left him with very few to live on, although dealing with rams had made life quite cheap lately, but he had an invitation to another world to accept and he wondered if he could make it with his scarce gold coins. He felt someone near - Hildagard, by the scent and by the step - and he smiled, trying to look less worried than he could.

“All done, Hilda, I’ve been measured again!” 

The paladin looked at Ironhand. “I am placing my trust in you, Kelomir. But I know it is well placed.”.

The dwarf nodded. “Yer friend there will be new’n’shiny quite soon”.

He patted her shoulder and looked again at Eriol.

“Just do be careful, ya eyeless brat”.

Eriol snickered. “What use for that? Everyone has to die sooner or later and if that’s my destiny, I will be buried with a wonderful armour and weapon on myself!”

Ironhand shook his head and waved them both out, eager to get to his commission.

Eriol and Hildagard were pacing among the sparse crowd, slowly making their way to an inn whose sign carried the words “Bruuk’s Corner”. By that time the shops were just closing their doors and the duo had no real hurry. He would be back when the armour and the spear were ready, he had Shattrath to visit, I had people to see, and in that moment Eriol was trying to convince Hilda that he could enchant the dwarves with his lute if he only wanted to.

Hilda’s eyes were drawn at her friend every now and then. She had already understood Eriol’s worries and she worried even more after hearing him speak. There had been a spark of his old despair, the one she had tried to hammer away from his heart, but apparently he still had to heal from his sense of guilt and helplessness.  
There had been a time when Eriol had been training like a madman with a pandaren healer who had been a martial art fighter in her youth and she knew that he had done that not just to be able to fight in a battle, but to be able to die in a battle. It had taken a lot of work to make the blind worgen see reason and convince him he had still life to live and much to give, and to her eye the outcome of the war effort in the Plaguelands had just enhanced his inner strength. Now his words, just a sentence, had sounded off to her ears.

Now, at least for now, he was more relaxed and eager to enter the tavern, to order himself some booze and spend the night gloriously soused singing wicked saucy tavern songs.  
Bruuk’s Corner was almost packed and Eriol waited outside while Hildagard, more maneuverable, went in to see if there were unoccupied rooms and a table to sit down. After a while, she came back.

“Rooms ok, we will be counter birds tonight, though. Better than standing… and the ale is good here”. She grinned, taking an elated Eriol by his hand, leading him in.

Quite later and at least five jugs downed, Eriol was lying awake on the soft dwarven bed in his small room, while Nuisance was sleeping on the mantelpiece, his head under his wing. He was thinking of himself and of his new purchases and of the journey he had to face in the following days. He knew by himself that his feelings were unstable in that moment and that he had to be careful with himself. He was playing with his Valour Medal in the pitch black darkness that surrounded him eternally, feeling the borders and the etched lion onto it. He shivered.

_I must cling to this. I must remember what I did, that there are people who are alive because of me, and that this is good and the real meaning of what I’m called to do. I have to atone for what I did, and this is the only way, the only path I have to break._

He smiled in the darkness, remembering his former comrades, Jesse and Commander Dawncastle especially. He missed them, he hoped they were good and he forced himself to chase away all the dark thoughts remembering them as he had seen them through Nuisance’s eyes, weird yet so very real. He hadn’t come to terms with his feelings, yet, but he didn’t care right at that moment. Every warmth and positivity he could find in himself had to be nourished, no matter whether he would not meet any of them ever again, he thought to himself, but he couldn’t quench the ever present spark of hope his heart guarded. Maybe, one day, he would hear the familiar voices again, and for now… the job needs done.

***

Eriol wobbled out of the portal from Shattrath nearly bumping into the other side of the queue, as if following the lurch of his stomach. Disoriented, he nearly stumbled when the woman behind him shoved him away and he had to lean to a pillar to regain some wits and composure. Slowly his head stopped spinning for good and, with a steadier grasp on his walking cane, he tried to orient himself in the corridors. After a surprising short while, he managed to find his way to the arc and go beyond. Running his hand on the wall, he descended the spiraling stair, aware that the outdoor spiral slope was awaiting him with the promise of a jump of 40 feet. Slowly and carefully he made it down to the ground level, drawing a relieved sigh. He was nowhere near his destination, but he felt, if not entirely at ease, at least strong and full of purpose. His new armour and new spear were awaiting him and he had found someone who wished to actively help him with his life. Maybe his luck was back on track, maybe not, but it was a fact that he had felt renewed hope surge through himself. After the biopsy (and the wonderful afternoon after it; Eriol had tried to bribe Zann into telling him what kind of drugs he had been given in the hope of finding more, but the acolyte’s mouth was shut sealed) the results had been brought to Gora in a matter of a couple of days and she had summoned him immediately. Her voice had been low and pleasant, like always, but she hadn’t been able to suppress a hint of discomfort from surfacing on it. She had both good and bad news for him, and while the goods news were tentative, the bad news had been a punch to his guts. Even though it was true that his wound had been cleansed and mended in Stormwind, the job had not been adequate and that had left a sliver of shadow magic lingering in the bones, enough to blemish his mental recovery. While his post traumatic stress was a real thing that would need time and care to be dampened, the lingering corruption had stilled most of the work he had done on it. The remaining shadow magic had to be and could be cleansed, allowing him to do better work on his damaged soul, but then another problem had surfaced with the results of the analysis. The shadow magic seeped in his bones had come to clash with the holy healing he had received in the following months. While the Light had healed him of his wounds, its action on the damaged and corrupted bones of his eye sockets had been a destructive one. The bone was compromised and it would need another type of purification before he could think in any way to get in touch with any Light-given healing or property. The bone around his sockets could even not regain its former strength. 

Eriol had listened to this, stunned and speechless and despair had taken him. “What should I do?”, he had asked the Anchorite with despair in his voice.

Gora had tried to soothe him. 

“I will transfer your accommodations immediately away from the Rise, for your own good. You will be lodged at the World’s End Tavern in the Lower City until further notice. There is a person I know that might be able to help you with, what we could call ‘alternative medicine’. I have high hopes that she will be able to tell us how to move and act without further endangering your face. In the meantime, you will be visited every day and you will begin to study the Light and its domain from a theoretical point of view. What will come next is yet too far away. Small steps, Eriol. First healing, then learning. You will settle at the tavern and then you are free for some days, until the end of the week, to go and tie up any obligations and social ties you may have before we really get to work.”

Eriol had agreed to that disposition, because now he felt more lost than before. He had thanked the Draenei for her help and he had moved to the World’s End Tavern. At night, in the everlasting darkness around him, he had shivered thinking of the magic still playing in him and had tried to come to terms with it. His recent mental instability and inclination to anger and fury had a root that could be extirpated, and he need not be scared. He was in good hands, with people who had taken his life to heart. So he had just to wait and see what would happen to him and what help he could harvest from Gora’s friend.  
Zann had come to him a couple of times, staying with him and asking him what he knew of the Light and everything, making him talk, more than teaching. Eriol had liked that kind of interactive lesson and soon he had felt more and more at ease with the huge, silent draenei. 

Now, Stormwind was, as usual, packed up with people and he felt better with all this life around. Slowly, steadily and stubbornly, refusing like always to take his feral form and use Nuisance as his guide crow, he made his way towards the Dwarven District. He stopped at a bakery to buy some freshly baked ginger biscuits that had hooked his nose from afar and then he went straight to the Deeprun Tram. He had to talk to Hilda and go to take his new, shiny armour. For a moment, his thoughts lingered on a pleasant daydream - himself parading in front of his crush, dazzling and polished, wielding the big spear with might and ease - and then he shook his head, vexed, trying to center himself and chase that uncertain, blurred picture in the darkest corners of his mind. He needed to reach Hilda and tell her what he had been told in Shattrath.

Sitting on the Deeprun Tram, feeling the shocks and the friction of the wheels on the rails in his bones, he almost fell asleep. He hadn’t been sleeping well since when he had left the ranch, with thoughts of gold coins and armour and weapon and the journey to Shattrath, but now, feeling more confident, he felt the relaxation clutch at his brain. He tried to stay awake to be able to get off at Ironforge but when he did, he felt more than a bit dizzy and tired. 

Bumping a couple of times against the passers-by and apologising profusely, he walked slowly towards the exit. He hoped to get to Bruuk’s soon and see if his friend was still there, and to have a pint to quench his ardent thirst. 

If not for the extreme cold of the outside and for the extreme warmth of the inside, Eriol could have really chosen to consider Ironforge as his home of election. He found dwarves amiable and sensible, their weapons and armours were among the best and their ales could bring back a dead body to life without all that horrible fuss of Undeath. 

He entered Bruuk’s with ease, by now, and some of the patrons there recognised the tall blind Gilnean, calling out a greeting. In a weird, but good way, he felt almost at home. He sat at a table near the counter and shone his most dazzling smile at the barmaid that had just approached him. “Is Hilda Goldram’s tab still open here?”, he asked innocently. The experienced barmaid chuckled. 

“Yessir, she’s still around. Should I put yer mug on it, like always?” 

“That would be the idea”, he grinned with satisfaction. Just a matter of time before Hilda came back, apparently. He felt active now and it was difficult for him not to address the present dwarves and gnomes and go on with his jesting, jaunty demeanour. He could well recognise it as a consequence of his instability as he was trying to even his moods. However he could not but grin at the jokes of the dwarves and when finally two hours and three pints later Hildagard entered the inn, he was surrounded by a cheering host that was asking for songs on top of their lungs, the lute in his hands and a mischievous grin on his face. Hilda stared at the scene with severe eyes, but inside she was happy to see her friend back. She approached the table, shooing away the boisterous dwarves and stepped closer, falling on a chair. 

“How many pints have ya put on my tab, lad?”, she inquired casually. 

Eriol beamed, lighting up. 

“Hilda! finally! I have so many things to tell you…”

“A song! Another song”, yelled the patrons around him.

“Shut it! I havta talk to me friend, so off with ye all!”, Hilda’s voice bounced against the walls. The patrons, unhappy, went back to their places, muttering.

“Oh, Hilda, how rude…” 

“They will never make an end of it, lad. So! What news?”

Eriol took a deep breath and filled Hildagard in earnestly, without omitting anything. His friend looked dismayed.

“You know well what it is. I am a soldier, no? And I have to increase my skill if I want to stay alive on the battlefield. We’ve spoken about this so many times, I’ve lost count, by Goldrinn, what’s wrong with it?”  
“Nothing wrong, lad. But I hope ye know, by now, how important yer life must be for ya, not for the others”.

“What do you mean? Soldiers fight for the other people who can’t do it, Hilda. If there were no wars, all “I have to go back to Shattrath by the end of this week and meet Gora again”, he went on. “She said she will call this person soon and I guess that later, when I’m healed, she wants to teach me about the Light and my ways to cope with what you know well. My unstable moods and my… nightmares''. Eriol’s face was contracted, his hands tense on his lap. “I have committed myself to learn, Hilda. I hope something good comes out of it. I…” He stopped talking, lowering his head. His curly, auburn ponytail was hanging on his right shoulder and he began to stroke his hair, keeping his slightly shaky hands busy. 

“Lad, stop that. I understand what ye want, and being’ cleansed is ok, but are ye sure…” She looked at him intently. “Are ya sure ya wanna do this for the right motivation?”

“What do you mean, Hilda?”, he asked nervously, bristling a bit. He forced himself to settle down.

“I mean what ya said is cool and cozy and all, but what’s the aim of it?”.

Hilda looked troubled, although her voice was gentle.

Eriol looked annoyed. 

"If there was peace, it would be easier, but that’s not the case. When I fight to save lives I know I am doing my duty and I can consider myself satisfied”. Eriol’s clear tenor had changed to a low, throaty growl. He was shaking slightly, angry of an ire that came from inside, from afar.

“And ‘tis fine. But ya owe sanity and goodness to yerself, firstly, Eriol. No one cares for Eriol better than Eriol. Then, when Eriol is fine with himself, he will think of others. This is how it works”.

Eriol remained stubbornly silent. Deep inside he knew Hilda was sensible and right, but in his mind’s eye the faces of his former comrades looked at him with contempt and loathe. He had lost them, his arrogance had betrayed the trust they had given to him by not being able to spot the ambush that had led his squad to perdition. How could he not do all what was possible to him to right the huge wrong that crushed his shoulders and heart?

Hilda was looking at him with impatience, now. 

“Stop thinking what ya thinking. Right now. Besides, tomorrow is armour day so you should go to bed”.

Eriol put on a sullen expression and Hilda looked at him warlike.

“So?”

“I want another mug”.

“Off. With. Ya”. She marked every word poking the Gilnean’s ribs not really gently.

Eriol flinched and stood up to evade the mildly annoyed dwarf.

“You and the crow must be related”, he muttered, donning his backpack and taking the lute.

“Ya and my rams must be related, only they’re less stubborn than ya! Now, go!”

With heavy, disgruntled steps, Eriol reached his room, closing the door after himself.

***

Eriol was walking again through the streets of Stormwind, in the Dwarven District. He had left Hildagard at the Deeprun Tram, Ironforge side, this time, and they had parted with a big hug and the promise to write letters (to be fair, Eriol had promised to write, and Hilda had not denied she would answer) to keep in touch.

“Hilda, if you need me, just come over, go to the World’s End Tavern and ask about me. Everyone there will know where I am, I promise you”, he had assured with a suggestive shift of tone. 

She had made a repulsive sound and had helped him with his backpack, since he had still to get accustomed to his new outfit and weapon. The dwarven artisans had made a wonderful work and Eriol looked very good in the leather-mail-and-plated armour. 

The steel parts were wonderfully light and very strong. Yellow/orange reinforced leather covered most part of the mail on his chest piece and shoulders, and a huge pauldron in three layers of leather protected the shoulder of his non-dominant hand. The added reinforced parts in mail and plate on the chestpiece, tied with strong leather straps, were dark grey and looked formidable. The mail underneath the reinforced leather fell to cover his flanks and groin and the ensemble was kept fast by a leather belt which sported a back piece of plate to protect the worgen’s waist on the back side. Ornamental fangs were strapped to it, and from lower straps other similar ornaments dangled on the side of his thighs. The belt also supported belt pouches and a long knife that the dwarven armourer had crafted specifically for him. The black trousers were made of reinforced leather on two layers, so that they could adapt at the increment of size between Eriol’s human and worgen form. The boots were made with the same yellow/orange leather and reinforced plate, like the gauntlets, thick and kept in place with strong straps. A long gray mantle completed the outfit. The spear was a masterpiece: the shaft was covered in a special lizard leather that made the grasp sure and steady, and knots of metal had been inserted at regular distance to help Eriol have a clear understanding of the position of the weapon. The lower end of the weapon was long, strong, thick and sharpened on both sides. The tip of the spear was wonderfully crafted in black steel, with a spiralling chiseling and borders as sharp as razors. The ornate guard of the head showed a huge garnet set deeply in the steel. Ironhand had explained to both of them that the gem could be enchanted, once they had enough money for that.

And now Eriol was ready to go, the backpack with his bedroll, his lute, his walking cane and Nuisance’s cage strapped to it dwarfed by the man’s sheer height. 

Hildagard had wished him good luck and he had turned, feeling weird walking alone without her. It almost didn’t seem right. And now, after the long journey on the Deeprun Tram, he was treading carefully along the narrow streets of Stormwind to reach the inn. Tomorrow he would cross the portal and see what would be of his life at the end of the path that lay ahead. All he could think of, that night, in the inn’s bed, was that his fears, his uncertainties and the dangers that would lie ahead of him were drowned in the flame of his hope, which burnt deep in his heart. Moments before sleeping, the weird, slightly distorted image of his beloved came to comfort him, and he fell to a sound sleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> The characters in this short story are original roleplay characters on the realm Argent Dawn, Eriol Byrne being my blind worgen and Hildagard Goldram and Gora belonging to my cherished friend. The merit of the dwarven speech goes to her, because I simply couldn't write in that way, even if my life was at stake.  
> The story is a much needed filler that covers the gap between two different story arcs. Feedback is always welcome.


End file.
